


Waves

by ChristocentricQueer



Series: Carriage [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anger, Angry Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Anxiety, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Arguing, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Takes Care of Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley get into a bad fight, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Bible, Bible Quotes, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Bittersweet Ending, Condoms, Coping, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Takes Care of Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley is Angry at God (Good Omens), Depression, Domestic, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Loss, Love, M/M, Mentioned God (Good Omens), Miscarriage, No beta we fall like Crowley, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Shame, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tattoos, Theology, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Crowley (Good Omens), Yelling at God (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristocentricQueer/pseuds/ChristocentricQueer
Summary: “I don’t like that you feel the same, but I am thankful that I’m not alone. I suppose we should ride out these waves of grief together. Hold onto each other as they crash into us.”Crowley squeezed Aziraphale tighter. “There’s no one else I’d rather face the waves with, angel.”Aziraphale and Crowley grieve after their miscarriage.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Carriage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928539
Comments: 37
Kudos: 51





	1. Depression

**Author's Note:**

> "Grief is not a disorder, a disease or sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical, and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve." - Earl Grollman
> 
> This fic comes after "Carriage." Crowley and Aziraphale work through the grief of losing their baby, Abel. This story follows their process over the course of a year. 
> 
> Grief is not linear. It is a complex process. I think of it not as a straight line, but a squiggly, tangled one. This fic does not go through the stages of grief as we know them. Aziraphale and Crowley's grief flows where I have felt them lead me.

Aziraphale hadn’t moved from the rocking chair for quite some time, now. After they laid Abel to rest, Aziraphale went to the would-be nursery room in their cottage. There were a few items already inside of it: a crib, a changing table (they didn’t yet know if they’d need it, but it was nice for appearances), an end table, Crowley's throne, and a rocking chair. They found the chair on one of their many outings.

From time to time Aziraphale begged Crowley to take him to the antique district in a nearby town. Crowley wouldn’t admit it, but he loved seeing the history. Remembering the centuries long gone. Not to mention Aziraphale’s huffs and haws at things that were clearly fakes. The rocking chair was found not long into the angel’s pregnancy.

As soon as Aziraphale saw it, he stopped dead in his tracks. The seat and back were covered with a cream-colored fabric. A little worn from previous use, but still in good shape. It gave it charm, as Aziraphale would say. The wood was mahogany, polished and in excellent condition. What captivated him the most were the arms of the chair. They were carved to look like geese. The angel was instantly smitten.

“My dear, look at this exquisite piece of furniture. Wouldn’t this be perfect in the nursery?” Aziraphale smiled. He ran his fingers over one of the arms, tenderly stroking a goose’s neck. Crowley wished that goose was him, if he were being honest with himself. But now wasn’t the time for that.

“Thought we’d put my throne in there. Teach ‘em early that they should lord over all. Maybe put the TV in there too, educate them on the Golden Girls when they’re nursing. Or when they get demon fussy at night. That’ll be fun, and the throne’s more appropriate for that,” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I will never understand why you even have that throne, Crowley. I do not think that something like that will be soothing for the nursery. The angelic touch is more appropriate for an infant. And isn’t the color and design absolutely divine?” the angel gave his signature doe eyed looked. Aziraphale sat in the chair and pretended to hold a baby in his arms.

Crowley took in the sight. He could picture Aziraphale chest feeding their baby, rocking them to sleep after they were milk drunk and at peace. It was lovely. But Crowley couldn’t see himself doing the same. Just didn’t suit him. “Angel, let’s make a compromise. We’ll buy the chair. When you want to sit in the nursery, love on our baby, when it’s your turn to get up, you’ll have your space. I want my throne in the kid’s room too. When it’s my turn, I’ll have my spot. Little one’s fifty-fifty DNA wise anyway… Think it’s only fair.”

“You have a deal, my darling. Oh I can’t wait to rock them in my arms!” Aziraphale wiggled with delight. Crowley leaned down and kissed him before flagging down the shop owner.

That joyous memory seemed distant to Aziraphale now, as if it had happened thousands of years ago. The rocking chair purchased for the angel to share with his bundle of joy was now just a seat for one. As much pain as sitting in the chair caused him, Aziraphale could not bring himself to get up. He _had_ to be in the nursery. He couldn’t bear to leave. Not yet. Probably not for a long time.

He did not speak for weeks. Verbal communication wasn’t possible. He thought back to Zacharias when he wasn’t able to speak. But his silence was one of joy, finding out that Elizabeth was carrying his baby. Aziraphale’s silence was of sorrow, losing his beloved Abel. So he took to the written word instead. Aziraphale had a journal and a pen beside him on the end table. Besides tears, it was the only way he could express his anguish.

Every day, Crowley would join him. He’d bring Aziraphale tea, his favorite treats from the village bakery. For Crowley’s sake he would eat and drink. Gifts were a way that the demon showed his love and care. The last thing the angel wanted was to push him away, reject him. He loved Crowley more than life itself and was grateful for the care he provided. Aziraphale felt guilty that he couldn’t reciprocate. Couldn’t hold him in bed, buy him plants, whisper soothing words of affirmation in his ear. The angel was simply too depressed to be present.

But to Crowley, Aziraphale still offered support. He wouldn’t push Crowley away when he got on his knees in front of the angel. Hold onto the angel’s waist and rest his head on the swell of his stomach. Sometimes Crowley needed a moment to deny that his baby was no longer inside Aziraphale. To pretend that Abel was thriving, if only for a fleeting moment. Other times, Crowley needed to be at that altar his husband became. The cradle of life, the cradle of unconditional love. The only religion Crowley ever needed. The only person worthy of worship. The only safe place he could be vulnerable. Crowley would cry into Aziraphale’s belly, and the angel would run his fingers through the soft red waves of Crowley’s hair. To be touched was soothing. It made Crowley feel supported in his own sadness.

***

One evening, after a significant amount of writing and crying, the angel fell asleep. Crowley had returned from a trip to Aziraphale’s favorite sushi joint to pick up takeout. When he walked in the nursery, the angel was out cold. Finally resting after days of heartache. The demon put the sushi in the fridge, grabbed a blanket from the living room, and carefully draped it over his sleeping husband.

Crowley noticed the journal on the floor, opened to the most recent page. He knew he should ask for consent before looking at it, but Crowley couldn’t resist. He had to know what was on Aziraphale’s heart. It was killing him inside to hear nothing from the angel’s lips.

He sat on his throne and examined Aziraphale’s handwriting. Even in his depression his penmanship was immaculate. The page was tear stained, but there were no smudges. Crowley took off his sunglasses and read.

**_ Psalm 200 _ **

_ 1  _ _God, please speak to me,_ _  
I long for Your Heavenly voice.  
2 Hear my pain, God, for my heart aches;  
Join me as I sit in my rocking chair.  
3 I desperately long to know,  
How long, Lord, will this pain last?_

_ 4  _ _Show your face to me, God;  
explain Your ineffable plan.  
5 Why did Abel have to leave us,  
make my womb empty far too soon?_

_ 6  _ _I am tired of crying, of being mute._

_All night long my husband holds me  
and drenches my belly with tears  
7 He longs for the days before,  
when I was our baby’s carriage._

_ 8  _ _God, was this a part of Your plan,  
that I would miscarry our hopes, our dreams?  
9 Is this punishment for my disobedience,  
for choosing love over heavenly duties?  
10 But I will always choose him over You,  
and I will put my trust in my beloved._

_ 11 _ _My Crowley. The one who loves me._

Crowley carefully put the journal back on the floor, exactly where it had been before. He pressed a kiss to the sleeping angel’s forehead. He left the nursery.

It was the middle of the night, but Crowley had to get out of the house. He needed a moment alone to process what he’d read. Needed fresh air. Crowley walked deep into a forest near the cottage. He found a clearing and sat on a perfectly placed log.

Crowley spoke his thoughts aloud.

“I fucking hate You. I hate You so much. You’re a right wanker. Never gave a damn about any of us. Never gave a fuck about _me_. Threw me from heaven into the burning sulfur of hell. And Aziraphale still believes in You somehow. Thinks You might speak. What a bloody joke.” Crowley paused for a moment. His tongue felt like it was burning, but he pressed on.

“Why does he write to You at all? You don’t listen. Last time you talked to him it was about that stupid bloody sword! What kind of so-called mother doesn’t check up on the only angel who cares about life? Your ineffability is a joke. I hate when he says it. You care so little about us all that I doubt You had anything to do with it. But Your silence? Do You see what You’ve done to Aziraphale? Making him wonder if You killed our Abel. Our baby’s death was unjust. Like their namesake. Fuck You. Fuck the fact that You killed children in the flood. And if You had a hand in this because I touch him, I love him, I fuck him…”

Crowley pounded his fists into the log, splintering the sturdy wood. He tasted blood in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was from biting his cheek or punishment for blasphemy. Didn’t matter. It was there, and it dribbled out of his mouth. Whatever. Crowley brought his sleeve up to his mouth and wiped it away.

“Crowley?” The demon quickly turned his head and saw Aziraphale coming toward him. He was wrapped up in the blanket the demon had draped over him.

Crowley got up from what was left of the log and met the angel halfway. Aziraphale put his arms out, careful not to knock the blanket off his shoulders. The demon put his hands on the angel’s waist and rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, covering them both with the blanket.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered.

“For what?”

“For loving me, taking care of me… While I’ve been like this. I’m just so sad, Crowley. I miss Abel.”

Crowley lifted his head up and looked into Aziraphale’s eyes.

“I do too, dove. It’s bullssssshit,” Crowley hissed in sadness and anger.

“You’re right, my dear. It is, as you say, ‘bullshit’ that we miscarried.”

Nothing else was said. They held each other. The angel cried, and the demon sighed. And if Aziraphale had heard Crowley’s rant at God, he never mentioned it.


	2. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: explict sex. Here is where it starts and ends if you don't want to read it!
> 
> It begins with this sentence-  
>  "They hadn’t been sexually intimate since before their miscarriage."
> 
> It ends with this sentence:  
> After a while, Aziraphale calmed down

After that night in the woods, Aziraphale was finally able to speak again. Crowley couldn’t express how thankful he was to hear his husband’s voice. To see Aziraphale moving around the house, making tea and cocoa, reading books that weren’t about children. Things were not back to normal, of course. Crowley knew there was a lot to unpack. That grief is a complicated mess. But some sense of normalcy was nice to have again.

They were enjoying a peaceful afternoon. Crowley and Aziraphale were in their living room. The fireplace was lit, filling the room with a delightful warmth. Crowley was sprawled over Aziraphale’s lap. The angel was stroking his cheek with one hand as he had a book in the other.

“Angel?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale didn’t look away from his book. Crowley scowled in response.

Crowley grabbed the book from Aziraphale’s hand, miracled a bookmark to mark the page, and tossed it on the coffee table. The angel looked down at him. He sighed before kissing Crowley on the forehead.

“So, you haven’t been out of the house for a while. S’okay. But I think it’d be nice for us to go to the city today. Got tickets for ‘A Comedy of Errors’ later this afternoon, then we could get a nice dinner. Wherever you like. Whatever you like. Got us a hotel room too, so you won’t have to deal with my night driving. Won’t risk hitting a pedestrian again. For the Bentley’s sake. Yours too, I ‘spose.”

Aziraphale smiled with a warmth Crowley hadn’t felt in months. “That sounds lovely, my dear. I believe the last time I saw that play performed was not long after William’s death. I think it’s an excellent choice. I think we both need to enjoy one of his funny ones.”

“Glad you see it my way.” Crowley pulled Aziraphale down for a kiss. Aziraphale hummed in contentment.

***

The play was funnier than Crowley remembered, much to his delight. But as much as he enjoyed the play, it was Aziraphale’s presence that made it perfect. Aziraphale was holding Crowley’s hand, stroking it with his thumb. He leaned on the demon’s shoulder for most of it. The intimacy that Crowley had missed for so long was back. But the best part? Aziraphale’s laughter! Deep and hearty, and so embodied that it made Crowley vibrate. Oh how glad he was to hear his angel’s delight!

They walked out of the play hand in hand, fingers intertwined. Aziraphale was still giggling. There were tear streaks on his face—from happiness, for once. His face was flush.

“That was marvelous! What a brilliant choice, my darling. A perfect start to a beautiful evening together,” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley.

Crowley squeezed his hand. “Told you the funny ones are always the best ones. Now, what would you like for dinner, dove? Italian? Japanese? Anything you like.”

“I haven’t had Indian in quite a long while. You know how spices didn’t really agree when…Well, it’s a cool evening, and I think a delicious goat curry would warm me up,” Aziraphale responded.

“What my angel wants, my angel gets. And what do you know, the nicest place in London has our reservation,” Crowley raised his eyebrow and smirked. Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek.

Crowley couldn’t help but stare at Aziraphale as he enjoyed his three-course meal. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. The demon was enjoying a nice glass of wine while his husband indulged all of his senses. The angel moaned, wiggled, closed his eyes in pure bliss at the taste of the food. Crowley was thankful that the tablecloth was long enough to hide the growing excitement in his skinny jeans.

Aziraphale finished his gulab jamun with a content sigh and dabbed the syrup from the corner of his mouth. When he finally focused his attention on Crowley, he could tell how deeply affected his husband was. His left hand was gripping the tablecloth, and his right hand was rubbing his cheek. The demon’s neck and face were flush with arousal.

“Crowley, are you ready to go?” he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’d like to have my second dessert as soon as possible… But it’s at the hotel…” Aziraphale wiggled his eyebrows. He could’ve sworn smoke came out of Crowley’s ears.

Before Aziraphale could count to five, Crowley had settled their bill and dragged him out of the restaurant.

***

They hadn’t been sexually intimate since before their miscarriage. Aziraphale’s libido had crashed from depression and hormonal changes. Crowley had no desire to initiate anything other than hugs, tender kisses, and hand holding. But their date night rekindled the desire that seemed long lost.

They were laying on the hotel bed, clothes sprawled all over the room. Aziraphale was on his back, legs spread. He was gripping the sheets and making moaning sounds that far surpassed any he’d made at dinner. Crowley was between the angel’s thick thighs, sucking on his clit. He had two fingers inside of Aziraphale.

The angel let out a breathy moan. “Do you… Do you have a condom, dear boy? I need you.”

Crowley looked up from between the angel’s thighs and smirked. “I’m always prepared, dove. Going to take care of you. Hold still.” Aziraphale whined as Crowley removed his fingers and scrambled off the bed.

Crowley opened his overnight bag and unzipped his toiletry case. He pulled out a blue foil wrapper and a bottle of lube. He got back on the bed and urged Aziraphale to sit up.

“Put it on me, angel.” Crowley tossed him the wrapper and set the lube next to him. Aziraphale carefully opened it, took out the condom, and slid it over the demon’s length. Crowley moaned at the touch.

Aziraphale looked up at the demon as he spread lube on Crowley’s cock. “How do you want me, darling?”

“Want you to ride me. Sssssave a horse, ride a cowboy.”

“You’re not a cowboy, my dear.” Aziraphale paused. “Well, you were for a few years in the 1900s, weren’t you? You must have looked so delectable in leather cha-mmfh!” Crowley stopped him with a kiss.

Aziraphale giggled and gently pushed Crowley onto his back. He got on top of the demon and straddled him.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to discorporate. Do you want me to have to fill out mountains of paperwork?” Crowley snarked, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly have you suffer such torture…” Aziraphale lined Crowley’s cock with his entrance and slowly guided it inside.

“Ffuuuuuuuck, angel.” Crowley moaned. Aziraphale grabbed the demon’s hands and put them on his hips.

The demon’s hands roamed as the angel rode him. He hadn’t had the opportunity to explore his husband’s body in such a long time. Crowley ran his fingers up and down Aziraphale’s sides, feeling the stretchmarks lining his love handles. He caressed Aziraphale’s thighs, savoring the texture of the course, white hair there. His hands wandered to the angel’s thick arse, squeezing and massaging his cheeks.

Crowley knew he wouldn’t last much longer. The sight of his thick, plush angel astride him was intoxicating. To have the privilege to explore his body sent him close to sensory overload.

“I love you, Crowley. Will you come for me?” the angel brought his lips to his husband’s.

Crowley moaned into Aziraphale’s mouth as he came. Without a thought, the demon’s hands moved to the swell of Aziraphale’s belly. He held it reverently, the way he had when the angel was pregnant.

Aziraphale gasped and broke the kiss. His eyes widened, and his eyes welled up with tears. The angel got off of Crowley and flopped on the bed. He curled up in the fetal position and began to cry.

“Angel, I’m sorry! I don’t know why I did that! It just happened, my hands just went there and… And fuck, I ruined such a good night!” Crowley reached over and touched Aziraphale. The angel squeezed the demon’s hand.

“Hold me…Crowley…Please,” Aziraphale whimpered between sobs.

The demon quickly removed the condom from his softening cock, tied it and tossed it in the trash bin next to the bed. He then curled himself around Aziraphale. He kept his arms on the angel’s chest so he wouldn’t make the situation worse than it already was. Crowley cooed in Aziraphale’s ear, comforting him the best he could.

After a while, Aziraphale calmed down. The sobbing was replaced by deep breaths. He guided Crowley’s hands down to his belly. The demon did not protest and said nothing in response.

“My love, you didn’t ruin tonight. This has been the best night I’ve had since Abel left us. You are not the problem. You did nothing wrong. When you touched me, I just remembered that he’s gone… That I should be sad. That by being happy I’m betraying him, in some way.” Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley said nothing. He pressed himself closer to Aziraphale to encourage him to continue speaking.

Aziraphale sighed. “A play, a wonderful dinner, lovemaking… My favorite activities with you, my darling Crowley. I know this is a good thing for us. And I have loved every moment by your side. But why do I feel so guilty? For enjoying life tonight?”

“I get it, angel. I’ve been feeling that way too. When we sit together on the couch, when I kiss you good morning, work in the garden and in the greenhouse… I feel so happy and then the guilt hits. How can I enjoy life when our baby’s dead? Just another part of our grieving, I guess.” Crowley sighed.

“I don’t like that you feel the same, but I am thankful that I’m not alone. I suppose we should ride out these waves of grief together. Hold onto each other as they crash into us.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale tighter. “There’s no one else I’d rather face the waves with, angel.”


	3. Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note: I am a progressive, queer Christian pastor. The theology that Aziraphale and Crowley wrestle with are ones I have come across in my time in church, seminary, and as a minister. Shame and beliefs about God bleed into each other. Pastor brain doesn’t shut off even in my downtime. I am coming from a Christocentric theological perspective (as my pseud suggests). Do I think Aziraphale is a Christian? No. And of course Crowley’s not. The Bible and the stories it tells play a significant role in his and Crowley’s backstory, however. And the Bible is what I know best. I read it every week, interpret it, preach and teach it. I cannot speak for any other religion or belief system. Theology is complex, diverse, and embedded within us. This is one of many interpretations that can be drawn from Good Omens. And I believe that other religions and perspectives are valid and can be explored within our fandom.

Crowley was tossing and turning in his sleep. He was growling, and his mouth was twisted in a snarl. Aziraphale could see a hint of fang. Aziraphale could sense Crowley’s pain. After all, they’d known each other for thousands of years. But the demon did not like to talk about it. He often left it unaddressed or took it out on his plants. Aziraphale knew that Crowley was at his breaking point. The nightmares always gave it away. As much as he wanted to reach out and hold Crowley, Aziraphale knew it wasn’t a good idea. He learned that in the beginning of their relationship.

If the angel tried to touch him when he was having a nightmare, Crowley would wake up in a panic. He’d grab Aziraphale by the throat and stare into his eyes. But the demon wasn’t present. The angel could tell he was still in his nightmare. Aziraphale did his best to keep calm. He’d seen many terrible things in his lifetime. Yet, he could not fully resist the energy of Crowley’s rage and terror. It took minutes for Crowley to come back to himself. The final time Aziraphale made an attempt to wake Crowley, it took hours for the demon to snap out of it. The angel was pinned to the bed. One of Crowley’s hands on his throat, the other bearing down on his chest. Aziraphale stayed still; he did not want to make things worse. Crowley eventually came to. And he would be horrified by what he’d done to Aziraphale. The demon left behind dark bruises and saw the fear and worry in Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley would cry for days, and Aziraphale would hold him. Aziraphale would whisper words of affirmation, tell the demon how much he loved him. He’d kiss Crowley on his forehead, run his fingers through his beautiful red hair. He’d assure Crowley that he wasn’t upset, that he understood that it was a traumatic response.

Aziraphale couldn’t bear to put him through that again. So he resisted his urge to hold him. The angel got up from the bed and left their bedroom, careful not to disturb Crowley. He had to ride out the nightmare on his own. They might talk about it. But probably not. When his husband would eventually wake he’d come to the angel. He’d crawl in Aziraphale’s lap, and the angel would rock him. Kiss him, rub his back. Soothe him.

As much as Aziraphale wanted to lie to himself and pretend it didn’t trigger a shame response, he couldn’t. He’d do his best to work through it before Crowley woke up. But this time it was proving to be a near impossible task. Aziraphale blamed himself for Crowley’s current bout of anxiety. He believed it was all because of his failure to carry Abel to term.

Aziraphale was ashamed of their miscarriage. He could not protect the precious life growing inside him. No miracle could save his baby’s life. Aziraphale could not comfort Abel. Help him find his way in the world. He couldn’t show him how much he loved him. His child would never return to him. All he could do was visit Abel’s grave. That wasn’t nearly enough. And on bad nights like this, Aziraphale could only see himself as the problem.

The weight of the loss and Crowley’s pain caused the angel to spiral into an endless loop of despair. He went into the library to try and calm down. It was his happy place, after all. The smell of first edition books, ancient manuscripts, the lovely memories they brought up… But this time, it didn’t do an ounce of good. All the books he’d read to prepare for his pregnancy were there. Mocking him, reminding him of what an utter failure he was. Reminding him that his womb wasn’t worthy to carry Crowley’s child.

Aziraphale wrung his hands and paced the room. He began to whisper to himself so as not to wake Crowley.

“This is all my fault. I’m soft. I’ve indulged too much. If I hadn’t eaten all that cake, all those pastries, those hearty breakfasts after the morning sickness waned… If I had been in better shape, not allowed my corporation to be soft. If I ‘lost the gut,’ as Gabriel said, Abel would have had a better place to grow. But I…” Aziraphale grabbed his stomach and squeezed hard enough to hurt. “I didn’t even give Abel what he deserved. I failed them. I failed Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s eyes began to well up with tears. His thoughts shifted beyond his corporation. They moved into thoughts of God, judgment, and punishment. Usually he could keep the beliefs at bay. He would resist the urge to self-flagellate with the written word. To ground himself, the angel would recite scripture that brought him comfort and focused on love. But when Aziraphale slipped into shame, he dwelled on the ones that caused him the most pain. The ones that made him believe that She was punishing him for loving Crowley.

Aziraphale wiped his eyes and walked over to his wall of Bibles. He fidgeted with the collar on his robe. The one Crowley miracled for him after their miscarriage. The angel took a deep breath and pulled one off the shelf. It didn’t matter which version it was. The passages that pushed him further into shame were painful all the same. He knew he shouldn’t pick it up. He knew he shouldn’t turn to what ripped him up inside. But Aziraphale’s shame told him he needed to punish himself. He needed a reminder that Abel’s death was all his fault. That it was payback for all the times he disobeyed.

Of course he know the Bible was not the literal word of God. He’d been around since the writings, even tinkered with them a little. Biblical literalism hadn’t existed until recently in history. (He wondered if Crowley had anything to do with that, some mischief gone wrong). Regardless, the sacred texts were important to him. He felt the faith of the people who wrote them. Fondly remembered the miracles he’d performed to help God’s people. But he didn’t want those lovely things tonight. No, his shame powered through and forced his hand.

Aziraphale sat at his desk. With trembling hands, he opened the Bible to 2 Peter and found what he was looking for. The passage all too familiar to him. It was the one he’d read and recited many, many times. He used it every time he felt tempted to reach out to Crowley. To profess his love. It kept him afraid. Kept them safe. It also served to fill him with shame. Now that he and Crowley were together, however, it felt like a knife in his heart.

_For if God did not spare the angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to chains of deepest darkness to be kept until the judgment; and if he did not spare the ancient world, even though he saved Noah, a herald of righteousness, with seven others, when he brought a flood on a world of the ungodly; and if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction and made them an example of what is coming to the ungodly; and if he rescued Lot, a righteous man greatly distressed by the licentiousness of the lawless(for that righteous man, living among them day after day, was tormented in his righteous soul by their lawless deeds that he saw and heard), then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trial, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment —especially those who indulge their flesh in depraved lust, and who despise authority.  
_

Tears stained the page as he wept. The shame of his life, his actions (and lack of), and giving into temptation ripped through him. He felt shame that he had not Fallen while Crowley had. All the times he disobeyed, lied to God, chased the pleasures of food and entertainment…He was ashamed of his role in the Flood. That he did nothing to help spare the children, women, and men swept up in the rising waters. Aziraphale did as he was told and helped Noah and the animals. He was too anxious after God’s questioning him about the sword. Afraid of punishment for “yet another frivolous miracle.” Aziraphale remembered Sodom and Gomorrah. He could smell the ash, the burning flesh, the sting of salt in his eyes when it blew in the wind. He felt ashamed that he allowed Lot’s wife, who merely looked back, to turn into a pillar of salt. He wanted to save her life. But he was frozen in fear and anxiety. He was ashamed of being the angel he was. Unrighteous. Unworthy. A complete and utter disaster. Everything he wasn’t supposed to be.

It was the last verse that made him feel shame most of all: _…To keep the unrighteous under the punishment until the day of judgment—especially those who indulge their flesh in depraved lust, and who despise authority._ His cheeks burned in shame. He tears kept flowing. Aziraphale’s felt like this was directly about him. As if it was one of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies.

He whimpered aloud. “I turned my back on Heaven. I despised the archangels and their authority. I helped stopped the Apocalypse. I fell in love with a demon. I took his hand on the bus. I kissed him at the Ritz. I indulge in his flesh. He knew me, we conceived. I am unrighteous in Your sight. These sins were too grave for You to ignore. You punished me through my first child. By killing them, forcing the miscarriage. My actions hurt an innocent life. To lose Abel is my Fall. It is what I deserve. I have dragged Crowley down even lower than when You cast him out. All because I am a greedy, selfish, indulgent, _bad_ angel…Oh bugger it all!”

Aziraphale wiped his eyes, took his journal out of the drawer, and began to write.

***

As Aziraphale wallowed in shame, Crowley was in the thick of his nightmare.

Crowley was standing on a gray platform. He was wearing the robe he’d worn on the Wall. When he looked up, he saw the early appearance of Heaven. Fluffy clouds, the lovely rays of the sun, the background sounds of celestial harmonies. When he looked down, he saw the Hell he remembered all too well. Fire, sulfur, darkness, and screams so loud that they could destroy mortal eardrums.

Aziraphale was with him, dressed in his simple white robe. The angel was holding something in his palm. He held it out as if was offering something. Crowley mirrored the angel’s movements, and their hands touched. Aziraphale was holding Abel. He carefully moved their baby’s body so that they were resting where the angel and demon’s hands met.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley and smiled. It was warm and sincere. There was a tranquility to it that felt surreal. “Isn’t Abel the most precious thing in the world, Crowley?”

Crowley fought back tears. Seeing Abel’s body again made him feel anxious. He faked a smile in return. “’Course, angel. They’re beautiful. Looks a lot like you.”

“You don’t have to smile, my dear. I can smile for the both of us right now,” Aziraphale responded. “And my darling, you are mistaken. Abel looks more like you.”

The demon couldn’t help but smirk at that.

The peaceful moment together was short lived. Without any warning, a large hand came out of nowhere. The hand grabbed Crowley by the waist and yanked him from Aziraphale and Abel. He immediately knew who it was. He clawed, bit, and squirmed, but he could not break free.

“Let me go, wanker! Haven’t you done enough to me!” Crowley yelled. There was no response.

As soon as the words left his lips, Crowley’s eyes fixed on the scene in front of him. Aziraphale, startled by what happened, lost his hold on Abel. The baby’s body slipped from the angel’s hands and fell.

“Abel! Aziraphale!” Crowley cried out. He continued to struggle in God’s grip, but She was too strong.

Aziraphale turned his head and looked into Crowley’s eyes. The angel’s smile and serenity were gone. He looked dead inside, just like the days when he sat quietly in his rocking chair. Tears flowed from his cheeks. Crowley wished that he could wipe them away, hold him in his arms. But he was trapped.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and spoke. “I’m sorry, Crowley. But I have to go now. Abel needs me.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, angel, please! Stay here with me, we’ll be alright once She lets me go. Yes Abel’s gone, but we’ll be okay. You and me. Our side.”

“My mind is made up, my dear. If this is how I Fall, then this is how I Fall. If my corporation burns and I never return, then I never return. Our child needs me more than you, Crowley. You will be fine without me.”

Before Crowley could respond, Aziraphale jumped.

A growl erupted from Crowley’s throat. He put up as much of a fight as he could. He wanted his angel. He wanted his baby. If they were going to Hell, then he would follow them. Keep them as safe as he could from harm. But God would not let go.

“Oh, Crawley. Do you really think that you deserved them?” God finally spoke. Her voice was stern with a cruel edge. Just like when She cast him out of Heaven.

“What would You know about any of that? Not like You deserved Aziraphale. You never even bloody talked to him when he needed You! I’ve been there. Where were You? And it’s CROWLEY,” he spit.

God laughed. “You’ll always be Crawley. No amount of lying to yourself will change who you are. Just a snake who had one purpose. You never meant anything after that. And why do you think Aziraphale never heard from me? I want you to guess, since you seem to think you hold the fruit of knowledge.”

“You bloody know why, but sure. I’ll tell you. Because You don’t give a damn about him, about us. You killed kids in the Flood and promised You wouldn’t be such an asshole with a rainbow. What bloody good does a rainbow do when people’s children are dead? You wipe out entire towns as punishment for a few idiots. You let Jesus die. What’d that bloke do to anyone? You let people kill in Your name and do jack shit about it. If You can’t even care about people who don’t know their arse from a hole in the ground, how could You possibly care about Aziraphale? So You’ve just let him suffer all these years, thinking he’s no good. Anxious and afraid of everything, ‘til he figured it out and got with me,” he answered.

“Do you remember when you read Aziraphale’s journal, Crawley? When he wrote a psalm just for me? Do you remember when he told me this:

_God, was this a part of Your plan,  
that I would miscarry our hopes, our dreams?  
Is this punishment for my disobedience,  
for choosing love over heavenly duties?  
But I will always choose him over You,  
and I will put my trust in my beloved._

_My Crowley. The one who loves me._

I know you haven’t forgotten. You went out into the woods to think about it. Blame me instead of looking at yourself.”

Crowley swallowed hard. His bravado was crumbling.

God continued. “What Aziraphale wrote should tell you exactly what you already know, but you don’t want to admit it.”

“It’s You, God! S’nothing to do with us! You’re the one who doesn’t care. Decided that Aziraphale didn’t need Your love and care. You abandoned him and tossed me out. You’re the problem here,” Crowley’s voice wavered. He was shaking with fear and anger. He knew what She was going to say, but he didn’t want to hear it.

“You’re such a pathetic little thing. You led Aziraphale astray on the Wall. My little Principality was much too weak to resist your temptation. He’d try to pray it away, but you were always first on his mind. You became his world long before you dined at the Ritz. You read it yourself, Crawley. ‘But I will always choose him over You, and I will put my trust in my beloved. My CRAWLEY. The one who loves me.’ If you had left him alone, Aziraphale wouldn’t be suffering right now. He wouldn’t have Fallen. I wouldn’t have had to take away the one thing he wanted to feel complete.”

Crowley whimpered. He couldn’t keep it together any longer. God’s grip and Her brutal honesty were too much to bear.

“If you hadn’t laid your filthy hands on him, Aziraphale would’ve been fine. He would have heard from me. I would never have punished him. He would’ve been able to eat, drink, read in excess… But you caused his destruction, Crawley. If you wouldn’t have been selfish, if you stayed in Hell where you belonged, Aziraphale wouldn’t know the pain of miscarriage. He wouldn’t have to see Abel burn in the fires of Hell. Which, you must know, he will be subjected to for all eternity.”

Crowley began to wail. “Aziraphale, I’m sorry! I’m sorry I caused you to Fall! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry I corrupted you! I love you, dove! Please, please come back! God, I’ll do anything, anything You ask. Just bring him back!”

God laughed and tightened Her grip. “Oh, Crawley, why would I do anything you ask? Such a stupid demon.”

Crowley woke up with a gasp. He was drenched in sweat. He was breathing hard. His chest was tight, the familiar feeling of anxiety hitting him like a freight train. “All my fault. All my fault,” the demon repeated. He buried his head in his hands and fought back tears. Crowley, for the first time in quite a long time, felt ashamed to be a demon. Ashamed to have lured Aziraphale down this path. Ashamed to have thought he could have a family, that he deserved to be happy.

***

When the sun rose, Crowley decided it was time to seek Aziraphale out. He needed his husband’s warmth. He needed reassurance that he was worthy and deserved the angel’s love. That he was more than Crawley.

He found Aziraphale at his desk in the library. The angel was writing in the same journal he used months ago. Crowley’s heart sank at the memory of reading the psalm. How it pointed to the possibility that it was Crowley’s fault Abel had died. He knew his curiosity would get the better of him and he would read the newest entry, but not right now. He couldn’t think about that. Right now, all Crowley wanted was Aziraphale’s love.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale slammed the journal shut and looked at Crowley in surprise. He’d been focused on that journal for quite some time. The demon could tell. There were puffy circles under Aziraphale’s eyes and it took him some time to bring Crowley into focus.

After the initial surprise, Aziraphale’s body language became warm. He offered a sincere, tender smile. Crowley could see the tension leave the angel’s body. “Hello, my love. Let’s go sit on the couch. I know what you need.”

Aziraphale got up and walked over to Crowley. He pressed a kiss to the demon’s forehead and led him into the living room. The angel snapped his fingers and miracled a nice, cozy fire. The angel sat on the couch with his legs spread. He motioned for Crowley to sit between them. Crowley did as he was told, and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him. Crowley began to feel himself calm down and melted into the angel’s arms.

“That’s it, my dear. Lean into me. You’re a perfect fit for me. Right here, in my arms. My best friend, the one I can always count on. You’re the greatest blessing in my life, Crowley. You always have been. I love you,” Aziraphale whispered in Crowley’s ear. The demon began to cry. The angel always knew how to make him feel loved when shame came calling.

Aziraphale felt Crowley calm down. The demon would be okay. But Aziraphale wasn’t so sure about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scripture referenced is 2 Peter 2:4-10a (NRSV)


	4. Anger

“Crowley, my dear, thank you for spoiling me yet again. The frittata was scrummy. I do so appreciate when you make breakfast for me,” Aziraphale smiled before pressing a napkin to his lips.

Crowley shrugged. “’Course, Aziraphale. Not that hard to do, and I like seeing you happy.” He took a sip of coffee. “So, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Ooh! Don’t keep me waiting, dear boy. What is it?”

Crowley summoned a card from nowhere and handed it to Aziraphale. It was an appointment card from “Untie Your Knots,” a spa the next town over. The angel hadn’t been properly pampered in a good long time, and Crowley wanted him to have some time for himself.

Aziraphale wiggled with delight. “This is wonderful! Oh it’s been so long since I’ve had a manicure, a nice deep tissue massage, a steam bath. Thank you!” The angel leaned across the table and kissed Crowley.

“If we want to get there in time for your appointment, then we’ve gotta get going. It’s an all-day thing, all of it’s taken care of. Grab whatever you need and meet me in the car. I’ll drive you. Call me when you’re finished and I’ll pick you up, dove.”

“You aren’t coming with me?” Aziraphale asked with a slight frown.

Crowley shook his head. “Angel, it’s time for you to have something that’s all about you. I know that you need it. Spa days were something you loved back when we lived in London, and I remember how much you loved the bath houses in Rome…” the demon smiled fondly at the memory.

“If you’re sure, Crowley. Thank you for this, it means a lot to me. You always seem to know what I need,” Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek.

***

After Crowley dropped Aziraphale off and returned to the cottage, he paced around the house. He knew he shouldn’t do what he was about to do, but he had to. His motivations for getting Aziraphale out of the house were not purely altruistic. He was a demon, after all. Aziraphale had a lot of good days lately, but there were quite a few where he was reclusive. Deep in his own thoughts. Crowley had tried to bring up with Aziraphale, but the angel would skirt around it. It was starting to drive the demon crazy.

The only place he’d find out what was wrong with Aziraphale was in the journal. The one he’d read when the angel was asleep months ago. The deeper emotions that the angel refused to show were in there. Beautifully written and articulated. They were often based upon scripture that Crowley was quite familiar with. Hell still taught the biblical stories to demons. Didn’t teach them to read (Crowley learned on his own), so it was all verbal. They skipped over the happy, hopeful stuff, of course. Can’t have them getting any ideas about kindness or God’s love. His education came in handy, because all Aziraphale seemed to focus on was the sad, gritty, painful stuff.

After wrestling with the decision for a good while, Crowley went into the library, opened the desk drawer and pulled out the journal. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, he reassured himself. Crowley flipped through the entries and found the entry dated a month back. It was the night Crowley had that horrible nightmare. That was the day the demon noticed the changes in Aziraphale.

Crowley took the journal out to the greenhouse. It was his sanctuary, his safe space. The demon growled at the plants before sitting in his Adirondack chair. He focused on every word.

_It happened one afternoon that I left my cottage and walked out to the greenhouse. From the door I saw a man scolding plants, and the man was very beautiful to behold. I remembered the Garden for a moment, our first meeting on the Wall. I heard someone say, “Is this not Crowley, the serpent of Eden, a demon, a hereditary enemy?” I waved the voice away. I brought a message to the man; “Oh Crowley, did you look at the calendar this morning?” The demon looked at me. He came to me, took me by the hand, and laid with me. Not a speck of dirt to be found, his appearance pure and immaculate. We were joined as one, holding each other close. I said, “Oh Crowley, my love, do you feel it? It’s absolutely radiating inside me. We’ve conceived.”_

_In a short time, a battle raged within me. The most horrendous casualty occurred. The battle was part of a greater war that I started against God. Planned, executed, and carried about in the world. It began I put myself first, my desires and wants above all. I tempted the tempter, took him as my own. I began this war after thwarting Heaven and Hell’s plans. I began this war when I seduced the demon, kissed him at the Ritz. Claiming him in front of watching eyes, some looking on in shock and disapproval. The war raged on when I convinced him to lay with me over and over again. An angel and demon joined together in loving defiance. I believed I won the war when my beloved and I purchased our cottage. When we put our hands to work and built a greenhouse. A sanctuary just for my darling. The one I stole from Hell._

_I learned in time that the war was not over, and that I was not the victor. I hid the truth from my beloved. I knew that our child died. I felt the flame of life snuff out within my womb. It was only a matter of time until I could not deny the casualty any longer, shield my Crowley from the truth. The truth was on my trousers, soaked and stained with my angelic blood._

_When Crowley knew that our baby was dead, a tear left his cheek. And selfishly I did not comfort him. I allowed him to care for me. Remove my clothing, hold me in the bath, catch our child in the bloody bathwater, fetch their unfinished blanket. And I could not tell him the truth—that I knew our baby was dead because of my sins. What I had done displeased the Lord._

_Months later, I heard someone’s voice yet again. It said to me: “There were two beings in the same city, one a demon and one an angel. The demon was somehow blessed beyond measure. He had everything he could ever need. The angel was not as fortunate; he received little love and understanding. But the angel still gave of himself. The angel nourished the demon, bought him his favorite foods, allowed him to drink from his cup. He let the demon lay in his bosom; he treated him as if he were a precious gift. But the demon was selfish. He pushed the angel away. When others would see them together, he would deny that they were friends. The demon even told him that he did not even like him. The angel stayed. And the demon continued to be greedy. He continued to take and take, ask for everything and anything. The angel never denied the demon a thing, and even agreed to the demon’s most selfish desire.”_

_I felt so angry when I heard these words. “As the Lord lives, the demon who took advantage of that angel should be punished! The demon should have to repay the angel for everything he took, because he took his fill and did not give anything in return!”_

_I did not realize how much of an ignorant fool I was until I looked in the mirror. I took a long, detailed look at my face. My round cheeks from many lovely meals and sweets. I touched my face and felt the laugh lines at the corners of my eyes, formed by happy moments I never deserved to have. My forehead, creases carved by years of disapproval and judgment. I gasped, and I realized with horror that I am the demon!_

_The voice I heard earlier spoke again. It did not sound like God; it sounded like a prophet from long, long ago. “Thus says the Lord God, your Creator: ‘I anointed you a Principality in this world, and I let you roam free. I allowed you to enjoy the Earth, all of the delights that humans created. I gave you the gift of eternal life and the ability to perform miracles. And if that had been too little, I also would have given you much more! Why have you despised Me, taken advantage of the love and kindness of another creature? You tempted him, kept him as your own, took and seldom gave; you have taken him to be your husband, though you have broken his heart many, many times. Thus says the Lord: ‘Behold, it is time for you to feel loss, to know what it is like to be heartbroken. To have your comfort challenged, the blessings you’ve received punished. I will make you feel this pain in front of the whole world, before the man you tempted into loving you. You will feel your shame, and you will see that all of this is your fault. That this is the way you will Fall.”_

_Tears welled in my eyes. My cheeks burned. I knew that I deserved this. That I deserved to be punished, to have what I wanted taken away. I said with deep regret, “I have sinned against the Lord.”_

_And the voice answered me, “The Lord will accept your apology; you will only Fall in humility and shame. However, remember you miscarried because by your sinful deeds you have forgotten God and defied the leaders of Heaven.” The voice vanished, and I was left to sit with all that I have done._

_My God, I am sorry for so many things that I have done. I must be clear with You; I am not sorry for loving Crowley. You say that You know our hearts, after all. But I am sorry for the centuries of hurt that I caused. I am sorry that I pressured him into this mess, for pushing him to have a child with me. I did not deserve it. But most of all, God, I am sorry that I failed him. That because of my selfishness I miscarried. I killed our child. And he must tend to a broken heart yet again caused by how bad of an angel I am. He tends to his own and to mine. I am not worthy of him. I am sorry I brought him into a war he never asked to participate in. I do not know my way forward, how to ask for his forgiveness. I do not know if I even deserve it._

Crowley read Aziraphale’s words over and over. He began to feel rage well up inside of him. He was angry with God, angry with the world, and angry with the angel. Crowley hadn’t felt this upset with him since the holy water incident in the 1800s. He took his rage out on his plants, but it didn’t do any good.

***

When Crowley picked up Aziraphale from the spa, he was quiet. His jaw was clenched tight and his hands shook as he drove the car. The angel could feel the anger radiating from him.

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s arm, and the demon swatted it away.

“Crowley, what’s wrong? You were so happy this morning. Were you contacted by Beelzebub? Did something happen a—”

Crowley cut him off. “I read your journal, Aziraphale. Your entry on the night I had that nightmare.”

Aziraphale went silent. He looked out the window, anywhere to avoid Crowley. They didn’t speak the rest of the ride home. When they got back home, Crowley got out as fast as he could and slammed the door with such force that the car rocked. Aziraphale quickly removed himself from the car and followed the demon to the cottage.

“How dare you read my journal, Crowley! How dare you look through my private thoughts! I never gave you permission to touch it!” Aziraphale yelled. His face was beet red and his hands were clenched into fists.

The demon ignored him. He went into the house, though he was kind enough to leave the door open for Aziraphale. As angry as he was, he wouldn’t slam the door in his face. Crowley went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. The angel came up behind him and turned him around so they were facing each other.

“Why are you so angry with me? I’m the one who should be angry with YOU! You’re the one who violated my privacy!”

Crowley hissed. “You won’t fucking talk to me about your feelings! I ask and ask. But you don’t let me in at all. Aziraphale, do you have any idea how much it hurts when you look so sad? Your face just hangs like a bulldog. I don’t know how else to explain it. And you don’t even trust me enough to talk to me!”

Aziraphale lashed back. “You have your own problems, Crowley! I can’t have you taking on all of this! Some things I need to process myself.”

“You compared me to Bathsheba, Aziraphale. See yourself as King David when he killed Uriah. For someone’s sake, what in the bloody hell is wrong with you? I’m not an innocent victim like she was. Do you really think that I fell in love with you because you manipulated me into it? You think I’m that much of an idiot?”

“Crowley, I _am_ King David in this situation! Can’t you see it? Don’t you look in my face and realize that he and I are quite similar? Yes, you do have agency. I know that you do. But to me, you are innocent. You didn’t ask for this. You already suffered enough all these centuries… The Fall, dealing with me, Armageddon… This is on me and me alone. Because of all that I’ve said and done, I killed Abel. I allowed it to happen. It was God’s punishment for all the ways I’ve been a failure. A disappointment to you. A terrible husband. An angel who is no good. She spared me too many times, Crowley. And now that I have it all, everything I could have ever wanted, She knew it was the right time to take it away. All because of me, you’re grieving. You’re heartbroken. I did all of this to you, to us. I brought you down with me. Our child is dead, and it’s all my fault!” Aziraphale wailed. Tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Crowley could no longer control his anger (though if you asked the plants, he had failed to control it hours ago). To see Aziraphale like this triggered the memories of God, the beliefs that Heaven and Hell indoctrinated them all with, the day when God abandoned him.

“For the love of Someone, Aziraphale! Why are you so, so stupid to believe this! God doesn’t bloody care about you or anyone else! She never did! She thinks so little of us that there’s no way She’s punishing you. Abel died. But it wasn’t you. And if you’re going to say ‘how dare you’ to me, then I’m going to say it right back. How dare you compare me to Bathsheba, put me in her role. You don’t have power over me. You aren’t a fucking king. You didn’t take me from a bath, fuck me, get me knocked up, and kill someone so you could have me. Why do you think it’s okay to make me look so helpless? Do you take such pity on me as a ‘poor little demon’ that you see me like a child?”

Aziraphale tried to cut in, but Crowley put his hand up.

“I’m not finished, Aziraphale. You’re going to listen, and you’re going to deal with this. You think you’re so evil. That I’m this pitiful little thing who gave and gave and gave. And that you just took everything from me and I sat back like a pathetic little lap dog. Some passive loser who waits for you to throw your scraps from the table. Do you even see me as an equal? Do you…Do you even love me at all?” Crowley turned away from Aziraphale. The words stung his tongue. He immediately regretted what he said.

Aziraphale walked away from Crowley and braced himself against the doorframe. He didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He looked at Crowley, his gaze filled with anger and hurt so intense that the demon felt it pierce his heart.

“Well then, Crowley, it begs the question then, do you love me at all?! When you read my journal, judge me for the way I work through my shame?” He kept his gaze locked tight on Crowley. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“Angel, I-“

“Get out! I don’t care where you go! Just get away from me! I don’t want to look at you, hear your voice! Get out!” Aziraphale yelled, tears continuing to roll down his cheeks.

“Fine! I’ll go. I won’t even think about you!” Crowley downed his drink. He threw the glass on the ground and it shattered. “You can clean that up. See you later.” The demon pushed past Aziraphale and left the house.

The angel sunk to his knees and cried. He heard Crowley tear off into the night.

***

While Aziraphale was sitting at home, Crowley went to a dive bar. It was a shitty place—dirty carpet, the air thick with cigarette smoke, sticky furniture. But it was a comfort, somehow. He took a seat at the bar and ordered drinks in rapid succession. The bartender didn’t argue, didn’t tell him he’d had enough. The man couldn’t be bothered to care. Just the way Crowley liked it.

He drank until he was trashed. Crowley hoped it would take his mind off of Aziraphale and Abel, but it didn’t work. It didn’t numb his pain; the alcohol only made it worse. He put his head down on the sticky bar table. And for some reason, he felt the need to pray.

“Okay Lady listen up. I don’ really, really know what to say. But ’m not talkin’ to You jus’ for me. ‘m talking to You for me ‘n ‘Ziraphale. P-please, get through, tell ‘im I love ‘im. That ‘m sorry. ‘Cause ‘m too drunk to do it myself. That’s what I got,” Crowley closed his sort of prayer.

He sighed, threw some money on the bar and got up from the stool. Crowley staggered his way out of the bar into the parking lot. He got into the backseat of the Bentley and curled up in a ball. He could’ve sobered up, drove home. But Crowley wasn’t ready to face Aziraphale. And he knew the angel wouldn’t be ready to see him. The demon closed his eyes and passed out.

***

Aziraphale miracled the glass back together and put it in the cupboard. He grabbed himself a wine glass and poured a drink for himself. The angel went into their bedroom and laid on Crowley’s side of the bed. He drank slowly—he didn’t feel like getting drunk—and took deep breaths. He breathed in the scent of the demon on his pillow. He missed Crowley already. He felt a pang of regret for asking Crowley to leave. But it was for the best, otherwise Aziraphale knew that he would say something worse in retaliation.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley didn’t mean what he said, but it cut him to the core. Of course he loved him. He loved him with everything he had. This wasn’t about that—there was so much more to unpack here. The angel laid there all night, replaying Crowley’s words over and over again. By the time the sun came up, Aziraphale had forgiven him. He wanted Crowley home.

Aziraphale picked up his smartphone from the bedside table:

_Crowley, please come home. I love you._

***

Crowley jolted awake when his phone went off. His head was pounding and his throat was dry. Great, like he needed a hangover. He picked up his phone off the floor, expecting a spam text about an upcoming election. Instead the demon was met with the words he desperately wanted to see. He quickly texted back:

_Omw, dove. I love you too. See you soon._

Crowley made it to the cottage in record time. He couldn’t bear to be away from Aziraphale another minute. As soon as he parked the car, he got out and ran to the house. The angel opened the door and held out his arms. Crowley ran into them, and Aziraphale wrapped him in a strong embrace.

“Let’s go lay down, Crowley. We need to work through this.” Crowley nodded in agreement, and they went to the bedroom. They laid down on the bed facing each other. Aziraphale took Crowley by the hand and they interlaced their fingers.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and began. “Crowley, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much I’ve shut you out the past month. I thought I had been better at communicating with you. I suppose shame makes that rather difficult to do though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes it does, angel. And I’m sorry that I read your journal and acted like a wanker last night. It was the only way I thought I could find out what you were feeling. And I was just so angry to see how much you’ve been hurting. How you feel like this is all your fault, that God’s done this to us to punish you,” Crowley responded.

“I’m still hurt that you read it, but I understand why now. Trying to keep my pain to myself and work through the shame alone isn’t working. It isn’t working for me, and it certainly isn’t working for us. I don’t want our relationship to be one of secrets, and I’m afraid I’ve fallen back into that with…All the grief I’m carrying,” Aziraphale sighed.

“I haven’t been that open with you, either. ‘Bout the nightmares. You know how you’re feeling like God’s punishing you?”

Aziraphale gave a slight nod.

“That’s what my dream was about, angel. But not it being your fault. No, Abel’s death was my fault. God grabbed me and told me that we lost our baby because of everything I’ve done with you. Defiled an angel and ruined you forever. All your pain and grief was because of who I am. ‘Spose we both carry a lot of shame about this, don’t we?” Crowley asked.

“You’re right, my dear. I think it may be time for us to work through this embedded theology. We left behind Heaven and Hell over five years ago and we’re still indoctrinated in some ways. Thousands of years of it is certainly hard to shake. What we’ve internalized is only pushing us away from each other. I don’t want to carry this shame around anymore. It takes away from who we are together,” the angel said.

Crowley nodded in agreement. “Spot on, angel. We’re on our own side now, gotta shake off the bullshit that got shoved down our throats. Keep what works for us, what helps us be better together, and toss the rest.”

“I like that, Crowley. ‘Keep what works for us, what helps us be better together, and toss the rest.’ I may make a cross-stitch of that and put it up. Would be good to have a reminder, wouldn’t it my dear?”

The demon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. “You’re such an old man, Aziraphale. You and your needlework. Before I know it you’re going to need help getting around the house. Going to have to run your breakfast through the blender, feed you with a straw.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “You’re insufferable, my dear.”

“All jokes aside, there’s something else I need to say.”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“I didn’t mean what I said. That question. About whether or not you love me. I’m sorry I said it. Was a low blow and you didn’t deserve that.”

“I forgive you, dear boy. I love you, and I will tell you that as many times as you need me to,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley again.

“I love you too. Always,” Crowley responded in between kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scripture reference and rewrite: 2 Samuel 11-12:14 (NKJV)


	5. Reconstruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some OC's in this chapter. For a portion of this fic, Aziraphale and Crowley are referred to as Ezra and Anthony by humans.

Crowley walked into Aziraphale’s study and saw him on his ancient computer. It had a small monitor and buttons on the right-hand side. It yellowed over time, no longer the lovely white it once had been. “Gave it charm,” as Aziraphale would say. A pear logo was on the front of it. He liked pears—part of why he chose that model. The keyboard was clunky. Aziraphale refused to part with it. No matter how many times Crowley encouraged him to get a laptop, the angel refused. So Crowley took it upon himself to make the old beast better.

When they moved to the cottage, Crowley miracled an update. It ran the latest version of PearSoft. The angel had the fastest internet connection around. He could look for antique books, find out about the latest estate sales, and connect with other collectors. Aziraphale didn’t use it often. But when he did, he’d be on it for hours.

He was taking some notes on a pad of paper in between scrolling. He had a smile on his face. Crowley could feel the waves of joyful energy radiating from the angel. Crowley knew that he was welcome in the study and could ask what he was up to. After their fight and make-up, communication between them improved. As painful as it had been, Crowley was grateful that it happened.

“Hey angel,” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Find another estate sale? Need me to drive you there? Want to watch as I slowly wither away from boredom?” he snarked.

Aziraphale chuckled. “You’re such a pain, my dear.”

“’S what I do. Can’t let you get too comfortable in domestic bliss.” Crowley kissed his cheek again. “Jokes aside, what’re you up to? You’ve been here for hours now. Haven’t cuddled your demon since morning and I’m in dire need.”

The angel rolled his eyes. “Well, let’s go sit on the porch. It’s a beautiful day, and I would love to have you in my arms. I’ll tell you once we’re outside. Now go, you foul fiend. Let me finish up my notes and I will meet you outside.” He turned his head and kissed Crowley on the lips before shooing him away.

Crowley felt a wave of peace come over him. Whatever Aziraphale was researching, it was clearly pleasant. The angel came out a few minutes later. He laid down on the outdoor loveseat and beckoned Crowley to join him. Crowley faced him, and Aziraphale wrapped him in a loving embrace. The demon kissed Aziraphale’s nose. The angel kissed him on the lips in response.

“So, what were you researching, dove? Could tell you were pretty focused on whatever it was. Must’ve been important.”

Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. “I was thinking about our grieving process. It’s been so difficult dealing with Abel’s death, and we’ve been doing this alone. No one from our pasts, or present friends, can be of much help to us. Now I am not saying that we are doing anything wrong, you must understand that, my dear. But I’ve been feeling that it may help us to talk to some other people who have lost their children too.”

“’S not like you, angel. You’ve been private about this, even with me. Like pulling teeth to get you to talk sometimes. I mean things have been better since that row we had, and I’m glad for that… But do you really want to talk to humans about this?” Crowley asked.

“You’re right. I have been keeping things to myself far too much. But I’ve improved. However, I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve put you through by hiding my writings, not sharing as much as I should.” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley put his hand on the angel’s face and nodded, encouraging him to keep talking. “Well, with the realization that our theology about what happened with Abel has led us down a path of shame, I feel we need others to heal. You taught me that it’s time for us to be open. And perhaps, maybe against my better judgment, humans could be most helpful. After all, they experience such things often. We do not.”

Crowley thought for a moment. “I’m still a little surprised this is coming from you. Not saying I’m not open to it. If this is what you want, then I’ll go. But I need to know where we’re going and who these people are. We’re not exactly the typical couple that deals with this kind of thing.”

The angel nodded. “I kept that in mind in my search. No churches, no groups where people wouldn’t accept us, no religious gatherings.” Crowley smiled at the angel’s consideration. He was brilliant at thinking about possible risks and dangers. It was a great comfort to the demon. “Much to my surprise, there is an LGBTQ child loss/miscarriage support group in London. It’s held at a little coffee shop twice a month. Owned and operated by an LGBTQ couple. I sent an email to the organizer. His name is John, a very kind man.”

“Well, what did he say? Did he even respond?”

“Much to my delight, he did! He was very excited to receive an inquiry from me. John said that he facilitates the meetings with his wife, Angela. He gave me some background. John is a transgender man who has had two miscarriages and a stillbirth. Angela, his spouse, is a transgender woman. He said that she started the group to help them get through the stillbirth, and it’s continued for years now. John said it is a small group, usually five or six people show up. The next meeting is tomorrow afternoon. The only thing a I found surprising is that he closed his email with a Bible verse: John 13:34. Lovely passage, but certainly unexpected. Is this something you would want to try? It would be okay if I go by myself. I don’t want you to feel obligated to meet with strangers just to appease me,” Aziraphale said in a reassuring tone.

Crowley smirked. “Dove, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, darling?”

“I emailed Angela.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, it appears we’re on ‘the same length of a string,’ as they say.” Crowley groaned at the butchered idiom. “How was your conversation?”

“Was pretty direct with her. Didn’t want to bring this up with you unless I felt safe about it. And to make sure it wasn’t an attempt to get us to join some cult.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “So I told her you were a transman because she’d understand that. I told her I was a cis man because that’s what I look like. That we’re gay. Dunno if any of these really fit us, but it’s the only thing they’ll understand. Not like we can tell them we’re an angel and demon and do whatever we want with our bodies, y’know.”

“Well, my dear. I told John the same thing. I felt it was the most appropriate for who we appear to be.”

Crowley smiled. “Glad we’re on the same page about that. Anyway, she was direct right back. I liked that about her. Said her and her husband are both trans and we’d fit right in. Told me about their meeting time and left it at that. Seems like someone I’d get along with. And John seems like your type of person.”

“That’s wonderful, Crowley! I know this is a big leap of faith, in a way. But I think it is worth a visit. I don’t think it can make our grief any worse,” Aziraphale said.

“I agree. Let’s give it the ol’ college try.”

***

Aziraphale and Crowley arrived an hour before the support group began. Crowley suggested they try out what the shop had to offer beforehand.

“Crowley, isn’t the name just adorable?” Aziraphale smiled as he read the sign.

“The name is cringeworthy. Why do humans always insist on making things so corny? Could’ve gotten more creative than ‘Beloved Beans.’ I know you said that John guy used a Bible verse in his email to you but this is just ridiculous. Coffee’s coffee, nothing adorable or beloved about it. Also, you always forget something, dove; the only thing on this Earth that’s adorable is you,” he smirked.

Aziraphale blushed. He always loved when Crowley said sweet things about his appearance. The demon opened the door for Aziraphale, and they stepped inside.

The coffee shop was lovely. It was a small place and quite cozy. The walls were painted an inviting, pale yellow. The tables and chairs were all mismatched. It was clear that they were purchased from various antique shops and sales. There were two bookshelves on the back wall. Aziraphale was disappointed to see that there were no books on them; rather, they held a wide variety of board games and puzzles. On the bottom shelf of each were baskets of children’s toys. On the other wall was a piece of artwork neither of them had seen before.

The husbands studied the print for a while. “’Jesus of the People’ by Janet McKenzie. Looks more like Jesus than anything else I’ve seen. What a beautiful piece of artwork,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley grunted. “Angel, if they’re both this Christian, and this group ends up being religious propaganda, then I don’t know about this. If I hear either of them say ‘everything happens for a reason’ I’m walking out.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “John assured me that this is a secular support group. But if it turns out he was dishonest with us, then we can leave. I promise that I will leave with you. We can always find something else.”

“Oh hello! Welcome to Beloved Beans!” They were startled by the loud, upbeat voice that greeted them. Crowley and Aziraphale turned around and saw a man waving from in front of the counter. He was short and plump, clean shaven, and had dark hair. He was dressed in an obnoxious flamingo print shirt. An obscene amount of chest hair was peeking out. He had the biggest smile on his face, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but return it. The angel could feel the love radiating from the man. He felt safe.

The angel and demon walked up to the man and extended their hands to greet him. “I’m Ezra, and this is my husband, Anthony.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I remember talking with you, Ezra! I’m John. I’m so, so glad that you both decided to come. I know it’s tough to reach out about stuff like this. Well I shouldn’t assume that’s how it is for y’all. But anyway, so good to have you here.” He was clearly from somewhere in the United States. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale could pin it down.

“I appreciate your warm welcome, John. Our conversation over the internet made me feel comfortable. May I ask where you’re from?” the angel asked.

“I’m from a small town in Ohio, but I moved around all over the Midwest. Lived in Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois… Never was happy there. Actually moved here ‘cause I met my wife, Angela, online. A chat room for lonely queers like her and I. Would you like to meet her? She’s probably out back taking a smoke break.”

Crowley smirked. “Never met anyone willing to admit they were from Ohio. You poor man.”

John laughed a deep, hearty laugh. His body shook with its intensity. “Anthony, that was too good! You’re absolutely right! There’s a meme going around that shows Ohio completely removed from the map of the US because everyone wants to forget it. I love it!”

“Doesn’t he have the best laugh? You don’t need to answer that, because we all know it’s true.” Angela stood behind the counter and leaned on it. She was one of the tallest women Crowley and Aziraphale had ever seen. She had long, fair hair and was dressed in a plain white shirt, a black jacket and mom jeans. Angela hadn’t medically transitioned and had no desire to. She had strong features and didn’t attempt to alter her voice. Her makeup was plain. The husbands felt her confidence and strength.

“You’re too sweet, punkin. This is my wife, Angela. Angela, this is Ezra and Anthony.”

Angela smiled warmly. “Anthony, you look exactly how I thought you would. Ezra, pleasure to meet you. What can I get you? It’s on the house.”

Aziraphale was about to protest, but Crowley didn’t let him. “I’d like a black coffee, and my angel would like an earl gray tea, one spoonful of sugar. We appreciate it,” Crowley took some cash from his pocket and put it in the tip jar.

“Yes, thank you. Thank you for your hospitality, John and Angela. You’ve made us feel truly welcome,” the angel smiled.

“No need to thank us! It’s such a joy for us to have y’all here. Our group will start soon. See those two tables that are pushed together? That’s where we gather. Take a seat and when your drinks are done we’ll come and join you!” John pointed to the table.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat down and pushed their chairs close together. Crowley leaned on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He ran his fingers through the demon’s hair. “I love you, Anthony. I have a good feeling about this. John and Angela are very kind people. This place is so filled with love, especially with their presence.”

“John’s a little _too_ kind. Sickly sweet like those white chocolates you love. But s’okay. Angela might like spooky things. Think she might be able to keep up with me too,” Aziraphale snickered. “And I love you too, dove.”

***

A total of eight people attended the support group. Along with the two monogamous couples (Crowley/Aziraphale and Angela/John), there was a poly triad (two men and one woman), and a single nonbinary person. Crowley and Aziraphale felt right at home. After everyone shared their names and pronouns, anyone in the group was free to share. Because Aziraphale and Crowley were new, the group decided to share their stories in depth. Crowley expressed that they would like to share their story after everyone else. His request was met with acceptance.

Suzette, Rob, and Thomas (the poly triad) had a stillbirth four months ago. They had been trying for a baby for a long time. It was clear to Crowley and Aziraphale how devastated they were by the loss. Maria had a miscarriage at about three months, just like the angel. The pregnancy was unplanned, and they had mixed feelings about it. A lot of their grief came from the mixed emotions they had. They felt relieved that they would not have to be a single parent, and yet they were sad for the life that never got to be.

John and Angela shared next. They had been together for ten years, married for five. Their first pregnancy was unplanned, and it was before they were married. It was a surprise, but they were excited. It ended in a miscarriage, and it broke John’s heart. Angela and John grieved the first miscarriage alone. It wasn’t an easy road, and they fought a lot. But they got through it. Three years ago, Angela and John had a stillbirth at 26 weeks. John was nearly inconsolable. This baby was planned, and, like the first, was loved and wanted. Angela knew they couldn’t get through the stillbirth alone. So she started this support group and it had gone strong ever since. When they miscarried again last year, it was much easier for John and Angela to work through their grief. They knew they weren’t alone; they had queer friends who knew and understood exactly what they were going through.

After Angela and John finished sharing, Aziraphale broke down. Crowley held him tight, and John reached over and took the angel’s hand in his. “It’s okay, Ezra. We’re here for you. It’s okay to cry,” John said softly.

Crowley felt led to speak. He swallowed hard, and his voice was shakier than he realized. “’S been awful. Ezra and I miscarried at 12 weeks. This is our first…Our first child. I hate seeing my dove like this. And as much as I want to be enough for us to get through this, I’m not,” the demon sighed. He kissed Aziraphale on the temple. The angel continued to sob.

“I felt the same as you, Anthony. We can’t be our partner’s only support. And they can’t be ours. We can’t get through the death of our kids alone,” Angela said.

Rob nodded. “Anthony, Ezra, this group has helped us. We’re still crushed by our loss. But knowing that Suzette, Thomas and I have a place to go where we can be ourselves and just be real… I don’t know what we’d do without this.”

Maria handed Crowley a tissue, and he gave it to Aziraphale. The angel took it, wiped his eyes and blew his nose. He slowly looked up at the faces around the table. He saw love, care, and compassion in all of their eyes. And he could feel it.

“T-thank you,” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “These nine months without our child have been some of the hardest of my life. And my Anthony is a dear. He’s been so good to me, so loving, so attentive, so thoughtful. I’ve tried to be the same… Though I’ve failed quite miserably at it.”

“You haven’t failed, angel. We’ve just been riding these waves together and we don’t know what we’re doing. Like our boat’s filled with water and our paddles fucked off somewhere,” Crowley responded.

Suzette chimed in. “Anthony, what a perfect analogy for all this. Ezra, I feel just like you do. I’ve worried about how Thomas and Rob are feeling, if I’ve been selfish. But my partners and this group remind me that I’m not selfish. We’re all just trying to figure this out. Good thing we’ve got buckets to get the water out of our boats, and we can look for the paddles together.”

***

John asked Aziraphale and Crowley to stay behind after the group ended. They both agreed.

“I know you’ve just met me and Angela, and this might be odd. But I feel led by the Holy Spirit to ask you something.” Aziraphale smiled warmly and Crowley visibly cringed. Crowley’s reaction didn’t deter John. “Would you be interested in having dinner with us tonight? Our shop closes at 5, and Angela and I were planning on having a simple meal in our apartment upstairs. Angela’s an excellent cook. Just seems like you two need a little more care. An hour isn’t really enough, especially the first time you talk about this with other people.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. The angel looked at him with those doe eyes that made him weak in the knees. Aziraphale always knew how to get what he wanted. Crowley sighed. “Oh, all right. But on one condition.”

“What’s your condition, Anthony? Happy to accommodate whatever you need to feel welcome!” John smiled.

“I get to help cook. No ifs, ands, or buts. If Angela’s got a problem with me helping, too bad.”

Angela yelled from the backroom. “You better know how to chop vegetables, Anthony. Going to put you to work!”

Aziraphale grinned from ear to ear. “Angela, you won’t be disappointed. My dear is a brilliant chef. Though he doesn’t take directions very well…”

They all laughed. It warmed Crowley’s heart to see Aziraphale smiling.

“Feel free to stay until we close up shop. I’ll get you some refills. We’ve got some board games and puzzles over there too. Look through ‘em and play whatever you’d like!” John exclaimed and left the husbands alone.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s arm in his and snuggled in close. “Thank you, dear boy. I think a nice evening with them will be exactly what we need. I’m looking forward to having more conversation with John, and I think spending time with Angela will be good for you, too.”

“Anything for you, angel.”

***

Angela and John brought Aziraphale and Crowley up to their flat above the coffee shop. It was a little place. A small living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Mismatched furniture just like downstairs. Despite its small size, the flat truly felt like a home. One built on a foundation of love and care.

Angela whisked Crowley away to the kitchen, and John and Aziraphale sat down in the living room. The angel sat on a homely floral couch, and John across from him on a mustard colored armchair. John leaned forward, a soft smile emerging on his face.

“I’m so happy that you took us up on our offer to visit! Think I’ll need to apologize to Anthony though.”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Why do you say that, John?”

“He got cringy when I said I felt led by the Divine to invite you to dinner. And I saw how uncomfortable the image of Jesus made him. Angela humors me about it, but I shouldn’t have brought up the Holy Spirit. It’s true, but it was wrong for me to assume you and Anthony would be comfortable with it. I know so many queer people who aren’t, but I got so excited that it slipped,” John leaned back and rubbed his neck.

“Yes, you’re right. Anthony is quite uncomfortable with God talk. It’s been a sore spot for him for many years now. Part of why I was so relieved to find you was that this group is secular and LGBTQ. You didn’t bring up God in our gathering today. That put him at ease. But, perhaps in the future do not mention any part of the Trinity to him,” Aziraphale responded.

John breathed a sigh of relief. “You got it, Ezra. I’ll work on that. My faith is just… It’s one of the biggest parts of who I am. So it’s hard not to mention it. Where are you at, in terms of God? I swear I’m not trying to convert you or evangelize. Not my intention at all, I promise.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. He wasn’t a Christian, wasn’t really anything in particular. It was incredibly complicated for a celestial being. But for John’s sake, he wanted to make things a little easier. “I believe in God and I have a deep appreciation for Jesus. A loving man with a good message. So I suppose at the moment saying I’m a Christian is best.”

John nodded, and they sat in silence. After a while, Aziraphale realized he had a perfect opportunity. He and Crowley were struggling immensely with their embedded beliefs about God. Sure, many Christian institutions had horrible theology—wasn’t too far off from what he himself had learned. But perhaps a person like John had a different perspective. Maybe an alternative view of God that could help him move on.

“John, this may be a heavy question, and you may disregard it. Where do you see God when you think about the deaths of your children? What is God’s role in it?” Aziraphale fidgeted with his waistcoat. He hoped he hadn’t crossed a boundary. But what did he have to lose?

“I’m actually glad you asked me about that. When I looked at you during the meeting, I just could tell there’s some big stuff going on in you. But I want to make sure I get what you’re asking. I get it wrong a lot. Angela usually has to direct me. So do you want me to tell you what my beliefs are about God’s role in all this? Or do you want me to just listen to where you’re at right now? I’m no priest or anything, but I can just listen.”

“I want to hear what your beliefs are, if you are comfortable with that.”

John offered a big smile. It put Aziraphale at ease. “Glad I actually got it right this time! So I had a really tough time with it at first. I was raised in a conservative home. Was always told that if anything bad happened that it was either all my fault or it was God’s will for me to suffer. I carried that around with me a long time. Still gets me sometimes if I’m feeling down. But when I moved here, I found a queer Christian house church. Still go there every Sunday. The friends I’ve made there helped me see that God doesn’t want bad stuff to happen. Life just happens. God feels sad when life is hard. God suffers with us. I mean think about Jesus. He suffered abandonment, persecution, loneliness, fear, and died just like us. Jesus knows every single pain we’ve got. And since Jesus is God, well, then God suffers with us.”

Aziraphale pondered that thought for a moment. He didn’t believe for a second that Jesus was the Incarnation. But the sentiment of God’s suffering was interesting. “Do say more about God suffering with us. How did God suffer with you during all of this?”

“God didn’t want my babies to die. It just happens sometimes. Actually a lot, I found out. At first I worried that I did something wrong. That I was being punished for being trans, for my other sins. But I realized just how stupid that was. Jesus tells us how much we’re loved. And God’s always with people on the margins, like you and me. So if God wasn’t punishing me, then God was holding space for me to deal with my babies’ deaths. Once I got those stupid beliefs about punishment out of my head, I felt God cry with me. I felt God mourn my losses with me. Even when I couldn’t feel His presence with me, I just knew He felt it all. He’s been with me every single step of the way. He loves us, Ezra. And with His help, we’ll get through this. You’re not alone. God led you to us,” John said warmly.

Aziraphale offered a smile in return. He appreciated John’s openness about the theology that helped him cope. He’d have to reflect more on it, but for the first time in months he felt a sense of hope. Hope that they did nothing wrong. That it was simply something sad that happened to them, happened to others. Someday they could try again. And if things went wrong again, they wouldn’t be alone.

***

“What’s John’s deal?” Crowley asked as he chopped up an onion.

Angela immediately knew what he meant. “He needs it, Anthony. If he didn’t believe I don’t know if he would’ve survived all the heartache. His faith helps him feel like God’s with him in our suffering. I don’t really buy it but I’d never tell him that.”

“Well, what about you?”

“I don’t really get it. I’m not a Christian, never have been. I think religion’s a waste of time, if I’m being honest with you. He goes to church on Sundays and I stay home and watch Golden Girls all morning,” Angela responded. She put a pot of water on the stove and turned it on.

Crowley’s curiosity continued. He didn’t expect to have a theological conversation tonight, but it felt important. “First of all, I knew I liked you from the get-go, and to know you watch Golden Girls makes you worthy of befriending.” Angela laughed. “Second, do you believe in anything? You said you don’t believe God’s with you in all this.”

“If I was to be technical about it, I think the closest thing would be a deist. I think a God or something made us, but then backed off entirely. So like a clockmaker. Set this all in motion and then just let us go free. It’s up to us to make our own meaning and figure things out. God’s not going to do it for us and isn’t involved at all. We have each other and that’s about it,” she shrugged.

Angela handed Crowley some cloves of garlic and set him to work again. They worked together in silence for a while. Angela put spaghetti in the boiling water and started cooking some ground beef. She put Crowley in charge of the sauce.

“Where does that leave you, then? Can see how John coped with it. How about you?”

She looked at him carefully. “Sorry if I overstepped, Angela. Just trying to figure out how to deal with this myself. Ezra and I have been having a really hard time. We grew up with some pretty shitty beliefs and we’ve had some bad fights about it.”

“No, you didn’t. I know how much you and Ezra are hurting. This is your first baby and this sucks. So what’s gotten me through? The people in my life. If there’s such a thing as soulmates, John is mine. My faith’s in him. And my faith is in the people in our support group. My regulars at the coffee shop. Their love is all that matters. God has nothing to do with it,” Angela spoke with that same confidence he’d noticed earlier in the day.

She continued. “Anthony, as long as you have Ezra’s love, you’ll get through it. And when it feels like you can’t get through it anymore, you know you have us. You’re always welcome. Welcome in the group, and welcome in our home. Now get back to stirring.”

Crowley smirked, and for the first time in a good while, he did as he was told.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale left quite late. They enjoyed a wonderful dinner and conversation. Angela and John roped them into playing a board game. Of course it had to be “Life.” Oh, the boring lives that humans live! As soon as they got home, Aziraphale and Crowley headed straight to their bedroom. They made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When Crowley woke up in the early afternoon, Aziraphale was still in bed. He had his journal out and was writing.

“Afternoon, angel.” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Aziraphale kissed his forehead. “Good afternoon, my dear. I’ve been spending the morning writing, and I would like to share it with you.”

Crowley smiled. Finally, Aziraphale was willing to give himself fully. To share the feelings that were deep inside. “Course, dove. Will you read it to me?” He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s chest, and the angel wrapped his arm around him.

Aziraphale read aloud:

**_ Song of Ineffable Love _ **

_1 I watch my beloved Crowley;_ _  
he brazenly curses the lilies.  
2 I roll my eyes and sigh,  
but my heart swells with love.  
3Turn to me, my beloved Crowley,  
put your trowel of terror away._

_4 Join me underneath the apple tree,_ _  
hold my hand as we share our hearts.  
5Let us remember our precious Abel  
talk about our hopes and dreams.  
6 Share with me, my beloved,  
all that you are feeling.  
7 I will share my feelings with you;  
give myself fully to you,  
for I love you more than the world._

_  
8 I see now that life is a mystery,  
for the celestial, for the occult.  
9 There is no rhyme or reason to our loss,  
it was not done by Her hand.  
10The death of our child simply is,  
a natural and unpredictable loss._

_  
11 I do not know what our future holds,  
if we will be able to conceive again.  
12 I do not know if I can be a carriage,_

_carry a child safely into this world._

_ 13 _ _I am slowly beginning to see,_

_that all of this is simply ineffable._

_14 Despite all of the unknowns,_ _  
I can be certain of one thing.  
15When I look into my beloved’s eyes,  
I know that he was created for me.  
16 No matter what pain befalls us,  
no matter what suffering awaits.  
17 We will survive, we will thrive,  
as long as his hand is in mine. _

A tear rolled down Crowley’s cheek. He tightened his grip on Aziraphale. He couldn’t get close enough. Aziraphale put the journal down on the bedside table and held Crowley tight. As if he was holding on for dear life.

“We will survive, we will thrive, as long as your hand is in mine,” Crowley whispered into the angel’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scripture reference: John 13:34- “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." (NIV)
> 
> Song of Ineffable Love is inspired by Song of Songs (aka Song of Solomon).
> 
> Sorry about the odd spacing in the Song of Ineffable Love. I tried to fix it but it wasn't working.


	6. Acceptance

For the past three months, Crowley and Aziraphale continued to attend the support group. It made a significant difference in their lives together. They communicated their feelings regularly. Aziraphale no longer hid his writing from Crowley, and Crowley talked openly about his nightmares. In their moments of shame, guilt, and sadness, the husbands helped each other through it. When the pain was overwhelming, they had the group members to support them.

As wonderful as the group was, the husbands agreed that the best thing that happened was their friendships with John and Angela. The angel and demon visited Beloved Beans once a week. When business was slow, Angela and John hung out with them. Crowley, in the love language he refused to admit he had, brought them little gifts here and there. Treats, obnoxious shirts for John, and obscure “spooky” movies for Angela. When their espresso machine broke down, Crowley bought them a new one. Aziraphale, a being of love, offered words of affirmation and delightful conversation. He also brought blessings, though Angela and John didn’t know it. All they knew is that they felt loved and accepted unconditionally in the presence of the angel. And since the husbands started coming around, business picked up significantly.

A month into their friendship, another ritual developed. Aziraphale and Crowley would spend every other Sunday with them. The angel would go to the house church with John and take him out for a hearty lunch afterwards. John loved having a friend to talk about theology and art with. Aziraphale felt the same. Angela and the demon would sloth it up. They’d wear comfy clothes, eat cereal, and binge watch their favorite shows and movies. It became a beloved tradition for all four of them.

***

One of their Sundays together was the day before the first anniversary of Abel’s birth. It was a great comfort to both Crowley and Aziraphale to be with their friends. They knew it would give them the comfort and strength to get through Monday.

Crowley and Aziraphale arrived at 10 a.m. The angel was dressed in his usual attire. The demon was in black joggers and one of Aziraphale’s cream colored sweaters. He loved being surrounded by his husband’s scent (not to mention it was a turn-on for Aziraphale). Aziraphale and John took off for church, leaving Angela and Crowley to laze around. She brought him a bowl of sickly-sweet cereal. He didn’t like it but he ate it anyway. Crowley sprawled out on that horrific mustard colored chair and Angela took the couch.

They settled on Santa’s Sleigh, arguably one of the stupidest horror movies in existence. Angela chose it for its humor; she figured that Crowley needed something funny to watch before the painful first anniversary. In between laughs, Crowley made his usual snarky commentary. Angela found him to be far more entertaining than the film. It warmed her heart to see Crowley in his usual form.

After the film, Crowley looked over at his friend. He noticed she was wearing a short sleeve shirt. Three tattoos placed vertically were peeking out underneath her sleeve. He cocked his left eyebrow in curiosity and leaned forward to get a closer look.

Angela felt his gaze and looked into his sunglasses. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare at a woman?” She teased.

“Sorry, never learned manners. Haven’t needed ‘em to get this far in life, why start now?”

“Ezra doesn’t have you as whipped as I thought then. That man is the golden boy of manners. Figured you’d have to behave before he’d give you any,” she smirked.

Crowley laughed. “Nah, it’s the opposite. He met me, couldn’t resist all this,” he made a sweeping motion with his hands up and down his body.

Angela rolled her eyes and smiled. “Conceited much, Anthony?”

“Oh, absolutely. Couldn’t tempt an angel like Ezra without my dashing good looks.”

After a good laugh, the room went quiet for a while. Crowley’s facial expression took on that curious look again. Angela met his gaze. Without thinking, the demon leaned over and pushed up Angela’s shirt sleeve. His curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn’t help but get a better look. She wasn’t fazed one bit by it. Angela had done something similar two weeks back when she brushed his hair aside to look the tattoo on his temple.

Crowley took in Angela’s ink. There were three sets of footprints. Simple line-art. It suited Angela. Two were of similar size, while the bottom set was larger. On each set of footprints were names. A first name on the left foot, and their last name—Burke—on the right foot.

Angela explained. “The top one was our first miscarriage. We named her Jael. The middle one was our second. Named her Mary. We don’t really know if they were girls, but John sensed they were. The bottom one is in memory of our stillborn. He was a little boy. We named him Luke.”

Crowley began to speak but didn’t take his eyes off the tattoos. “All Biblical names. Let me guess, you picked Jael?”

“Naturally,” she responded. “You can touch them if you want. Other people do when they see ‘em, and I don’t mind at all. Makes me happy when people do, actually.”

Crowley ran his fingers down her arm, touching each foot with reverence. The tattoos were well done. Simple, but clearly the artist did it with love. He’d seen many tattoos over the years, but none of them ever had an effect on him.

He took his hand away and looked at Angela. She could tell Crowley wanted to ask about them but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

“Got each one on the anniversary of their births. Keeping them alive even if they never did take a breath. Still alive to me and John no matter what anyone else thinks. And I want people to know them too.”

“Anyone ever say anything?”

Angela nodded. “Yeah. Almost any time I wear t-shirts or tank tops in the shop someone asks. So I tell them about the miscarriages and stillbirth. Not anything to be ashamed of. Tired of that stigma bullshit. Can’t tell you how many people share their stories with me and John. Actually my tattoos are how Maria started coming to our group.”

“S’actually a bloody brilliant idea, Angela. Never thought of it before.”

Angela responded. “You’ve never had to, Anthony.”

“True.” He went silent for a moment. Angela looked at him expectantly. “How’d you feel doing this? On their anniversaries, I mean.”

She gave him a soft smile. “It was the best thing I did for my children. It’s made those days easier. Think it’s because I carry them with me all the time. Get to talk about them all the time. My ink makes John happy, too. Some nights he’ll trace ‘em with his fingers and we’ll talk about our kids. And…” Angela’s voice trailed off.

Crowley knew what she wanted to say. He could sense it when he walked in their apartment. She was holding back out of respect for his feelings. Kind of her, but not necessary. He wasn’t going to push her to continue.

“Who’s your artist?” Crowley asked.

***

Aziraphale found he enjoyed the queer house church John attended. They called their group “A Place at Christ’s Table.” It was based on a favorite hymn, and they sang it at the beginning of every time they worshiped together. It was a small group—five people regularly attended. Lydia, a transwoman who a Catholic priest prior to transition. Jesse and Yvette, a lesbian couple. Isaiah, a young gay man. And John, of course. They welcomed Aziraphale with open arms, treated him like he was family. It was the first time he’d ever really felt like he could be himself at a religious gathering.

They’d sing, read a passage from scripture, and a member would give a little meditation on it. The group would sit in silence after the message. Lydia would administer communion with freshly baked bread and options of grape juice or wine (mindful of folks in recovery). At the end, the person offering the meditation facilitated a time for prayer requests. Aziraphale was deeply moved by their honesty and vulnerability with each other. It was truly in the spirit of Christ.

“Does anyone have a prayer request this morning?” Jesse asked softly.

The room was silent. Aziraphale wanted to speak, but he was anxious. Having humans pray for him seemed… Odd. It should be the opposite! Yet, in this space he was simply Ezra. Another human being. To them, he was a transgender man in a gay relationship. They were good people who accepted him. Didn’t judge him, see him as inferior or a disappointment. Maybe this once it would be okay to ask for prayer.

“I-I don’t usually… Ah, ask for such things,” Aziraphale paused. John put his hand on the angel’s shoulder. It was the way John showed care. With his friend’s touch, he pressed on. “Tomorrow is the first anniversary of… Our miscarriage. Anthony and I lost our baby, and it’s been a truly challenging year for us. I would appreciate prayer. But for my husband’s sake, I request that you do not pray for him. Simply keep him in your thoughts. Anthony is an atheist and prayer would upset him.”

Everyone in the room nodded in understanding. They gave Aziraphale looks of love, compassion, and sympathy. He could feel the love in the room. Slowly, each person got up from their chair. To Aziraphale’s surprise, the members of the church surrounded him. They laid hands on him. The angel had seen it quite a few times in his life, but never experienced it for himself.

Jesse began to speak. “Siblings in Christ, let us pray. God, we lift up Ezra this morning. We ask that You hold him in Your heavenly hands. Be with him tomorrow on the anniversary of his child’s passing. Remind him that just as he is Your beloved child, his child is also beloved to You. We pray that You will give Ezra comfort and peace. In Your name we pray, amen.”

“Amen,” everyone responded. Aziraphale tried to express his gratitude verbally, but he could not. So the angel showed it in the best way he knew how: he blessed them. Each of them would be met with a great delight that day, something special that they always wanted.

After church, Aziraphale and John headed to a diner close by. It was a little place that served the best English breakfasts. It took John a while to get used to them when he came to England, but he came to love them. And the time with Aziraphale made it even better.

“Hope it was okay that we laid hands on you, Ezra. When people share really heavy stuff, that’s how we pray for them. I probably should’ve told you that before you joined us but I didn’t even think about it. Been going so long that I spaced.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good fellow, the last time I accompanied you we laid hands on Lydia. I was just surprised that anyone would do that for me. It was a lovely gesture, and one I have never been given the pleasure of experiencing.”

“Good! Of course we’d do it for you. How are you feeling about tomorrow?” John asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“A little uncertain, to be honest. I am feeling at peace with Abel’s passing. And yet, I want to do something to mark the day, because it’s dear to me. I haven’t the slightest clue what kind of ritual could be done,” Aziraphale answered. He fidgeted with his napkin.

John looked at him with tenderness. “I don’t want to overstep, so let me know if this isn’t what you want. I’ll shut up immediately. Would it help if I told you what Angela and I have done? Or do you not want advice and just want to sit with this on your own?”

The angel stopped fidgeting and set the napkin back in his lap. “If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have withdrawn. But your friendship and the group have helped me feel better about these conversations. So yes, I would deeply appreciate any advice you have to offer Anthony and I,” Aziraphale looked into John’s eyes and smiled.

His friend’s eyes lit up and he smiled right back. “Angela and I do things in pretty different ways, which has actually been good for us. We participated in both things. She got what she needed, I got what I needed, and we felt closer when we did them together. Angela got tattoos of each of our baby’s feet and their names. Jael, Mary, and Luke. I went with her to the tattoo parlor and held her hand. We talked about them. If you haven’t seen the tattoos, ask her to show you. For me, what I did was wrote letters to each of my babies. I told them about my favorite parts of being pregnant with them. Like my favorite cravings when I was pregnant with Luke was macaroni and cheese with Spam in it. Angela thought it was gross but she made it whenever I wanted it. How excited and blessed I felt and still feel that they were a part of my life. That I had the gift of carrying them, if only for a short while. Angela hugged me tight as I read the letters out loud. Honoring our babies like that helped us accept their deaths but gave us hope. Because even though they aren’t here they’re still here. Kind of like Jesus. They died, but our babies are resurrected when we remember them.”

Aziraphale held back tears. “Thank you, John.” He couldn’t find anything else to say. The two men sat quietly until their breakfasts came. The angel had hoped John would share his good news with him, but it never came up. The angel snapped his fingers under the table. For once, what John didn’t know would actually help him.

***

Crowley and Aziraphale arrived home in the late afternoon. They went to the kitchen. Aziraphale sat down while Crowley fixed them both some tea. Added a spoonful of sugar to the angel’s tea, just as he liked it.

“Thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled.

“’Course.” Crowley took a sip. “Had a good conversation with Angela today. She showed me something.”

“Her tattoos?”

Crowley looked at the angel in surprise. “You knew about them? Why didn’t you tell me about them before?”

“Oh, I didn’t know until this afternoon when John and I had brunch. He told me. Lovely idea, isn’t it? Such a beautiful way to remember their children. Would it be something you would like to do? Together?” Aziraphale asked with some hesitation. Tattoos had never been something that crossed his mind before. But in this instance, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

“Dove, I was actually about to tell you that I booked an appointment with Angela’s tattoo artist. She miraculously had an opening tomorrow morning. Was hoping you’d come with me, but it sounds like you made up your mind before I even asked. You sure you want a tattoo? Not just because of me, right?”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his. “Not just because of you. I would love a reminder of Abel that I can see.”

“Me too. We can get matching ones, if you’d like. Already got an idea. I’ll draw it up and show you tonight.”

“I’d love that, dear boy.”

Crowley smiled and squeezed Aziraphale’s hands. “Anything else we should do tomorrow, angel?”

“I would like to have a picnic under the tree by Abel. Eat the foods that I craved when I was pregnant. And, if you’re amenable to it, each of us write a little something to tell Abel. I would like us to read them aloud,” the angel answered.

Crowley thought for a moment before responding. “My writing is shit, but I’ll do it. Better that we do all this together. Make it a good day.”

“A good day, indeed, Crowley.”

***

Monday was a beautiful day. Sunny and not a cloud in the sky, just like the day they buried Abel. This time, it didn’t feel like cruel irony. Instead, it felt comforting. Like Abel was offering them a gift of perfect weather on the anniversary. A nice day for a drive back into the city.

They arrived at the tattoo parlor at 11 in the morning. The artist was waiting at the counter, a small smile on their face. Angela let Crowley know in advance that artist used they/them pronouns.

“Hey Anthony and Ezra. I’m Faye, good to meet you,” they stuck out their hand for the two to shake. Faye had a shaved head, wore hoop earrings, and had an apple shaped body. They were covered head to toe with tattoos, all of them brightly colored and beautiful. Aziraphale thought Faye was one of the loveliest people he’d ever seen. Crowley agreed.

Crowley and Aziraphale shook Faye’s hand. Crowley pulled out a piece of paper with the tattoo design. It was a baby’s foot with Abel’s name in the middle. There were angel wings on either side of the foot, and demon horns above it. The angel agreed to the design; it was a mixture of angel and demon, something precious and sacred. No matter what anyone else would think or say about it. Heaven and Hell could shove it.

“Never seen devil horns on a miscarriage tattoo, but I like it. Seems to fit you two. Glad that Angela sent you my way. Her tattoos were some of the greatest pieces I’ve ever done. Lost my child when I was 19. My little Xander died when he was 3. Talking with Angela and John helped a lot. Actually attended their group a few times even though it happened a long time ago,” they looked up from the drawing and looked at both men’s faces. “Where am I inking you?”

“Want mine on my wrist,” Crowley answered. “What about you, dove?”

“On my chest, above my heart. If that is a possibility,” Aziraphale responded.

Faye smiled. “You got it boys. Let me take you back. You already know what a tattoo feels like Anthony. But Ezra, it’ll feel like deep cat scratches. You ever been scratched by a cat?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Unpleasant, but not horrible.”

“Good. I’ll start with Anthony, and then it’ll be your turn.”

When Faye was finished, Crowley and Aziraphale looked over their new ink. They had done an incredible job. When Aziraphale looked in the mirror at his chest, he was nearly in tears. He felt as though Abel was back in his arms, held close to his chest. He was overflowing with love for his child, for his husband. And Crowley felt powerful, in a way. He was proud to have his baby’s name tattooed on his skin. To have the chance to tell the story of their little one whenever someone asked. Abel was the culmination of Aziraphale and Crowley’s love, and he never wanted that to be forgotten.

Crowley and Aziraphale gave Faye the biggest tip of their life and took off for home. It was time for a picnic.

***

Aziraphale was sitting on the tartan blanket (he knitted it himself!). He placed it underneath the tree, facing the area where they laid Abel to rest. The angel watched as Crowley brought over a picnic basket. It was filled with far more food than would seem possible, simply because Crowley thought it would.

“This everything you craved when you were pregnant, dove?” Crowley asked as he pulled out all the dishes. Poached quail eggs, devil’s food cake, baked pears, shepherd’s pie, creamed corn, crisps, pickled beets, and New York style pizza. There was only one change; Crowley brought out a lovely red wine. A bottle that they were saving for a special occasion. He couldn’t imagine a better time for it.

“This looks scrummy, my love. I never realized just how…Fascinating my cravings were until you laid them all out,” Aziraphale answered.

“Imagine what it was like to cook all this stuff for you. But…” Crowley leaned over and kissed the angel on the lips. “I wouldn’t change a thing. I’d do it all over again,” he smiled.

“I love you, dear boy. Now let’s enjoy a spot of lunch!”

Crowley and Aziraphale enjoyed the cool air, warm sun, and beauty of their backyard. It felt completely different than it had a year ago. They felt at peace, at ease, happy. Where they were a year ago was nothing like today. Their grief shifted into acceptance. When they finished eating, the two wrote what they wanted to say to Abel.

“Crowley, would you like to share what you’ve written for Abel?” Aziraphale asked before taking a sip of wine.

He nodded. Crowley put down his pen and held up the notebook paper. Crowley cleared his throat and began reading:

_Dear Abel,_

_Been a year since we lost you. Can’t lie to you, it’s been a tough one. I still remember when your Papa brought up wanting you. He tried to be all sly, putting hints all around the house. Took him long enough to outright ask me. Abel, you have no idea how happy I was when your Papa asked if I wanted to start a family. Felt it the moment we conceived. It was… Well, it was heat and energy. Like the stars I used to make. I loved taking care of you and your Papa. Fed you everything you liked to eat, talked to you all the time, doted on your Papa every chance I got. I think back to those days a lot. When we lost you, my heart fucking hurt. It hurt more than the time your Papa told me that I go too fast. And that was pretty bad. But I got to catch you. I got to hold you, see your little face, your little wings. We got to say goodbye, lay you to rest underneath our apple tree. I’ll always love you, Abel. You’re our first kid, always will be. And I’m glad that we made you. Thanks for making us the luckiest dads in the world._

_Love,_

_Daddy_

Aziraphale put down his wine glass. He put his head in Crowley’s lap and looked up at him. Crowley bent down and kissed him on the forehead. He wiped the tears from the angel’s eyes.

“That was beautiful, Crowley. A little crude, but I would expect nothing less from you. I’m glad that we made Abel too. I love you so much, my dear.”

Crowley kissed him again. “I love you too, angel. Always. Now it’s your turn.” Crowley handed Aziraphale his sheet of paper. He looked lovingly into Crowley’s eyes before he began.

**_ Psalm 365 _ **

_1 Oh, Abel you are a blessing;_ _  
I shall never forget our joy.  
2 You warmed my womb, dear one;  
Our perfect, beautiful baby.  
3 Your daddy held my belly;  
Every single night I carried you,  
He spoke to you softly and sweetly._

_4 Even though you are not in our arms,_ _  
We know you are not truly gone;  
5For you are with us forever;  
On my chest, on his wrist, in our hearts._

_6 Our perfect, beloved Abel,_ _  
We will tell the world about you;  
To strangers, friends, and loved ones.  
7 One day, you will be a big sibling  
The guardian being of a precious life;  
8And we will tell them all about you;  
For you will always be our firstborn,_

_Born of the sacred love between angel and demon._

“Sit up, dove. I want to hold you.” Crowley spread his legs, giving Aziraphale a place to sit. He leaned back on the demon’s chest. Once Aziraphale was settled, Crowley wrapped his arms around him. He kissed the angel’s neck.

“’One day, you will be a big sibling.’ You mean that, angel?”

Aziraphale turned his head to look at Crowley. “Yes, my love. Whenever you feel ready to try again, I’m ready.”

Crowley held him tighter. “I’m ready, too. I can’t wait to tell our little one all about Abel.”

“Me too, Crowley. They couldn’t have a better big sibling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read this work. It has been near and dear to me, and I appreciate all of your love and support. I will respond to comments soon!
> 
> Blessings,
> 
> ChristocentricQueer


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